And so it starts.
Summer slides into fall with drunken wasps full of rage at boredom and impending doom
Night closes in for the long haul of winter.
Where did the evenings go?
Soon, too soon the honking vees of geese will fly south on their annual pilgrimage to the sun.
Frost comes bitter at first light, glistening.
Summer flowers die.
Now we wait but not for long, with snow only a whisper away from shrouding the land.